"No": A Complete Sentence I Don't Like

You know what my most un-favo(u)rite word is?

It's "no."

Normally I'd be writing about that word here, in reference to receiving rejections from publications and publishers.

But I have discovered that there are lots of ways to augment the complete sentence that is "no," and many of them are not to my liking.

Most recently, these are my least-favo(u)rites.

"No, you are not a match for your brother" (who, as you may recall, will likely require a stem cell transplant in 2011).

"No, your sister is not, either."

"Oh, and your cousin? No, she isn't, either."

Grrr.

Having two other brothers is hopeful.

But while we're on the subject, could I just urge you to think of doing something I can't? Please consider joining the National Donor Registry. In Canada, go here. In the US, go here.

I live in Canada and am thus directed to join the Canadian program. However, the Canadian program accepts donors only between the ages of 17 and 50. Maybe I should have kept a mailing address in Minnesota (you can be in the US registry till the age of 60).

As I whine about this situation, I remember I am not the patient. To patients, the worst "no" of all would be, "No, we can't find a donor for you."

It's a "no" no one should have to hear--including (selfishly) my brother.

Unexpected

To truly appreciate a holiday like Christmas, it's important to remain open and alert to the possibility of meaning in unexpected places.

Here are a few memorable moments from this holiday weekend.

Christmas Morning
Mummy: WHAT IS THIS, POO? WHO? WHO POO-D??
All: Not me. Nope. No!
Mummy: OK then, HOW DID THE POO GET ON THE SMARTIES??

Driving Through the Woods to G's House
Mummy: Oh, look! Three deer! Aren't they beautiful? Oh, how sweet. (Etc.)
Isaac (aged 8 tomorrow): I wish I had a flamethrower.

Welcoming Prayer, Boxing Day
Minister: You have shown us Your love in the coos of a baby....
Choir member [thinking]: The poos of a baby?

See? Sometimes, the true spirit of Christmas requires you to accept that the box of candy you thought you wanted isn't such a great thing. That the urge to hunt will assert itself eventually, no matter how cute the object. That you see love in your way, and others see love in theirs.

So far, the poo is winning over the flamethrower, 2 to 1.

What It's Like

Most Canadians have only a vague idea of (and vague-r interest in) where Oklahoma is. I usually explain it's "Texas lite."

What is impossible to explain is what it's like to live there. How you can have regular conversations with people who are so kind and generous, and then hear them say that they hate people whose skin is a slightly different color. People who are polite and thoughtful but wonder why you don't drape your life in the stars and stripes--are you not patriotic?

What's impossible to understand is how easy it is to give up hope. It's easier to not speak up, because speaking up isn't successful, and it makes you a target. Because money, especially oil money, wins over people every. single. time. That truth, and it is TRUE, leads people, especially those who are liberal politically, to be very good at analyzing problems and not so good at finding solutions. Lots of dinner table complaining to those of like minds, less effort to change minds and policies.

So when I run into someoneo who can express this mixed bag of feelings, I share.

Here, watch this.



Here are some of my favo(u)rite lines:
"billboards with hate-sized font"
"looking for a sign" "a fish with feet"
"where the sunset stretches its arms wide as forgiveness across stolen plains"
"do not apologize for your presence"

Here's one I'm not sure I believe, but I'm glad she does.
"Oklahoma is worth the wait."

Did you also notice what she does in this piece? She gives those who live there--those with family there, those who are staying there for work or to raise children--coping strategies. Hono(u)r Woody Guthrie, learn your history (you'll note that the plains are stolen), show others you love them even though you don't understand them. She shows them a way to hope, a way to take action to support that hope.

Go Lauren! For more of her poetry (which is excellent), go to www.laurenzuniga.com.

Our Regularly Scheduled...Whatever It Is

As I have mentioned (albeit obliquely) before, my brother Pete is having health issues. Specifically, this year he's had six rounds of chemotherapy for chronic lymphocytic leukemia. His post-chemo checkup a few weeks ago didn't bring the results we were all hoping for. He's having a second opinion in the new year, but his future may well include a stem cell transplant.

Obviously, this news is upsetting and is alone enough to distract me. Fortunately, Pete is quite positive; he and his family are strong and caring. Though they also worry, they realize that remaining upbeat works for them. I'm in awe.

In this case, however, life is behaving like a late-night commercial: But wait! There's more!

Not "more" in the sense of "bad stuff." More in the sense of "distracting stuff."

If a stem cell transplant is in his future, his best chance at a match is a sibling. I sent my blood off today for typing. My fingers are metaphorically crossed. (Literally crossing them makes it hard to type.)

And yes, there's still more, which helps give me the attention span of something with a really short attention span.

Even if I'm not “that” sibling, or if the match is not a sibling at all, the stem cell transplant will occur somewhere other than his home in New York State. His family will find it difficult to get away and, because my life is more flexible, I've offered to be with him whenever they can't be.

So at some point in 2011, my life will likely include travel, along with lots of other unknowns and uncontrollables. Dealing with which is not exactly my strong suit. However, I have done (almost) all I can do about this (aside from obsessively tracking the delivery of my blood to the lab) (okay I'm back...still in transit!). Though I'm still easily distracted and find it difficult to do long-term planning, I am mostly ready to return to taking care of the things that need to be done, at least in this household.

Like planning the family holiday. Which means, of course food and grocery lists and shopping trips. And then the cooking.

Like figuring out how all my “grownup clothes” (aka “not jeans”) got dirty at the same time. Which means sorting and washing. (As a side note, how many days in a row HAVE I been wearing these jeans?)

Like wrapping gifts. I bought the paper years ago, so it's too late to reduce my carbon footprint by using something else. Woo-hoo! Gaudy many-coloured gifts under a tree!

Like writing (I'm behind on gifts), baking cookies, and otherwise enjoying the holiday. Which will likely include some of those “is this me or is this an American/Canadian thing?” moments. Which I will share here.

All of which is just to say that the usual mishmash of Canmerican? Americadian? content will continue. In a perhaps-more-easily distracted form.

George VI

Not about the movie with Colin Firth that is getting such buzz. (No doubt deservedly so. And, yes, Colin Firth reading the phone book would be worth seeing.)

Instead, this is about something King George VI said in his Christmas message of 1939. Europe was at war.

A new year is at hand. We cannot tell what it will bring. If it brings a peace, how thankful we shall all be. If it bring us continued struggle, we shall remain undaunted. In the meantime, I feel that we shall find a message of encouragement in the lines which in my closing words I would like to say to you:

"I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year, 'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied, 'Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.'"

May that Almighty Hand guide and uphold us all.

You can hear the King give this address at this CBC site. The full text of the poem, which is by an American, Minnie Louise Haskins, is available here. This quote was so meaningful to Queen Elizabeth (who became the Queen Mother) that she put it up on plaques at various homes; it was also read at her funeral.

This space tends to be a religion-free zone. However, many people I know are heading into difficult times or at least facing new experiences that have uncertain outcomes.

A friend shared this quote with me last night. It has helped me, an uber control freak, to remember that sometimes all we can do is trust and have faith--and perhaps it doesn't matter whether that faith is in each other, in our own resilience, in a specific external Deity, or in the power of love.

Happy 2010, and high hopes for 2011.

Q: Sleet is...what?

A: The term "sleet" is American for what Canadians call "mixed rain and snow." Not to be confused with "freezing rain," which falls as liquid and freezes on the way down and creates yucky stuff that coats trees and snaps power lines.

Wikipedia has an entire entry about Canadian severe weather terminoloy. The horse itself is here: you will go to Environment Canada's glossary at the letter "s," where you will notice nothing about "sleet."

Fortunately, we don't have anything like that happening here today. Instead, we have clear skies. Which means hardly anything in terms of warmth. This morning was 15 below F. That's, like, I dunno. Cold.

Could be worse, though. Could have freezing rain or mixed rain and snow.

My point? Just that even conversations about the weather between Canadians and Americans still have plenty of room for miscommunication. Though "brr" seems understandable to both.

Adventures in Healthcare and Aging, Part Bazillion

"Well, I painted on the strips today."

Thus began a conversation the rest of which I will spare you, because it is about collecting samples for the Fecal Occult Blood Test. Trust me, you haven't lived until you've heard a Canada Geek describe the bridge he made with toilet paper to, uh, facilitate smear collection.

This conversation was a good thing. It happened because a new nurse practitioner clinic opened recently in Thunder Bay. Finally, my retirement-age husband, whose asthma and allergies make him a surprisingly delicate flower most of the year, has healthcare again. See? A good thing.

He had the same family practice doc for decades. This doc finally retired two or three years ago, after threatening to for several years. Apparently physicians in their 70s prefer retirement, what a crazy idea. In any case, the doc referred lots of his patients but "orphaned" more--thousands of patients. Including my husband.

About 18 months ago I got into a regular practice by virtue of knowing people. My husband was accepted by this new nurse practitioner clinic by virtue of my nagging ability and his own good sense. I'm relieved for lots of reasons, not the least of which is that we are now both monitoring our health, collecting information about our bodies when we are healthy, so that when they are not, we have a better chance of noticing.

And as I have said before, ad nauseam (which, LOOK! It's spelled correctly!!), healthcare systems are systems, and are thus inherently flawed. On both sides of the border, proactive care of one's health is important. Which, when one gets to a certain age, means doing the fecal occult blood test.

But only one is at that age. The other of us had our mammogram last year, and is not anxious to volunteer to do any painting, thanks just the same.

That Moment

Just now, it happened.

I was standing at the front window, looking out. The view is different today. Yesterday at this time, the skies were clear; the thermometer hovered around 0F. The crisp breeze sharpened the edges of the needles on the pines and balsams.

Today is gray and warmer, about 10F. Snowflakes fall but they're the kind of snowflakes that would be mist if they were water. Periodic breezes nudge poplars and birches into motion. The trees lean toward each other and away, whispering.

Just now, as I stood there watching the snow, our outdoor light went out. At nearly 9 a.m., the morning finally grew light enough to trigger the sensor that turns it off.

How often does that happen? How often do you know something has changed at the exact moment it changes?

You probably think this is a "where were you?" moment about John Lennon or JFK or, God help us, Princess Diana or Michael Jackson. It's not. It's not even about the shooting, 21 years ago this week, of 14 female engineering students in Montreal.

And I could argue that it's not really one of "those moments," the ones where you know your life is different, for better or worse. Like standing on a beach to promise forever, or sitting at a bedside when the goodbye has already been said.

This is just one event in a string of them, one pearl in a necklace. I could even say that it's an event in someone else's life, not mine.

But saying that would distance myself from the truth. Yesterday afternoon, I received an email with someone else's scary news. Today, things are different--for me, too. On the up side, I may be able to be of use, to do something concrete to help one of my brothers. On the down side, one of my brothers needs help. Big help. He needs new blood. He can have mine, if it is of use to him. We will find out, in time.

Snow falls, and I imagine each flake as a blessing, a prayer, a wish for health--not only for my brother, but for anyone who's frightened, depressed, sick, or in pain.

So today's view through the window is different.

Wikileak Worthy

I've been trying to come up with something to say about the Wikileaks "revelations" about Canada. I'm feeling a little...torn, I guess you could say.

Here's what my Canadian half has to say.

I don't know, I just wonder, maybe, I guess I'm saying that what I think I might want to say, isn't really, you know, very...pithy or interesting or...valid. It's not as good as what Americans say about Canada, that's for sure.

Because they think we have an, um, inferiority complex? Like, we are so inferior, because of being, um, smaller and not-American, as a country, that is (because we are waaaay bigger in square miles, really, and three coastlines to contend with), and sometimes we show how bad we feel about ourselves by overcompensating and pretending to act all superior and smug.

Like when we make the U.S. the bad guys on our TV shows, and I might add those are based on real-life stories like Maher Arar, but maybe, you know, that's out of line.

Or maybe when we point out that we're actually, like, BIGGER than the U.S. as well as a whole separate country, and therefore, not-American is pretty much exactly how we should feel.

I'm sorry. Was I too loud? Just...I need a moment. Thanks.

Here's what my American half has to say.

Canada. Yeah. Hmm. They're like, north of Alaska? We don't really need them, not for anything important like oil or building materials or minerals or anything. Wait, let me check my BlackBerry...C-a-n-a... Oh, the Olympics, right. Like that hockey game meant something. They speak some French up there, don't they, and have a lady on their money?

I don't mean to make mock. Well, maybe a little mock.

But hey, World, here's the deal: Diplomacy is not the same as honesty. They have a separate word for it and everything.

Now, isn't there something else we could all be doing? Like maybe not bombing each other?